


james.aitf

by 01123581321345589



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/01123581321345589/pseuds/01123581321345589
Summary: One "tsundere" android's secret file about some of his feelings for his soft partner.
Relationships: AV500/AV100, Bellini Paints Android/Original Android Character





	james.aitf

**Author's Note:**

> Reginald (personal name for the AV500 that runs the Bellini Paints store), has a boyfriend, James.
> 
> Reginald is a harsh - bordering hostile in places - android, who doesn't let many people know how he actually feels, about anything, ever.
> 
> James is an AV100. A soft, caring android, who is an early form of the AV500 customer service model. Whilst identical in appearance. He has many differences, mostly based on age, that he compensates for in friendly demeanour.
> 
> The following is a text file hidden away in Reginald's system, containing some of his actual feelings surrounding James.

<***FILE ENCRYPTION PROTECTED, PLEASE PROVIDE ENCRYPTION KEY:***>   
  
6ee6d0a9d0c281fd57b93c660ac912a8   
  
<***ENCRYPTION PASSED. LOADING FILE: James.aitf***>   
  
  
  
He is so soft.   
  
Everyone knows that. He admits it himself. The love of his warm sweater and the blankets that do nothing to stop him from overheating, those are just the surface level. The superficial. It runs so much deeper, but you would never know if you are not blessed enough to be allowed to touch him.   
  
The first time his hand collided with mine, the flinch was so sudden, and so… Uncharacteristically graceful. I was under the impression that his model’s chassis was somehow plusher, and more pliable. It was only when his hand wrapped around mine that I realised I was mistaken. Not that it mattered.   
  
I had craved that connection for so long. It could have been made of shards of broken glass, I still would not have let it go at that moment.   
  
The day I painted him, I admit, was partially orchestrated. It was true that I had the paints. It was true that I wanted to complete the project. That is all. Asking him to pose for me was just me pushing my luck. I could just as easily have painted myself and posed before a mirror. I just wanted an excuse to be allowed to touch him again. I had never expected that he would agree.   
  
He practically quivered from the beginning, and incredibly early on it became clear that the softness was because he submitted to firm touch far quicker than I would have. His sensitivities were so much higher, and his tolerance for pressure so much lower. I realised this as his thigh gave to one side when I placed a thumb to caress a deep blue powder along the inside.   
  
At first I thought he was twitching away to give me better access, but as I gripped with my fingers to try and hold him in place, his sharp inhale, his need for breath, the heat of his chassis…   
  
I remain convinced that being that close to him is the nearest I’ve ever come to human hunger. In that moment I could have devoured him. I wanted to know how he felt between my teeth, how   
  
And I suppose I eventually got to do that, a little later on. Personally, I blame the whimpering.   
  
\--   
  
I mentioned that I would have held his hand if it was made of broken glass earlier. That was not a lie, but it also is not the only time I think of glass when I think of him.   
  
Because that softness, that sensitivity, the way his face tilts up to let me kiss down the length of his neck, the spread of his smile when I tell him I love him, the wide-eyed gaze as-…   
  
Excuse me. I got a little distracted.   
  
My point is, I am scared that he  _ is _ like glass. His submission to practically everything I do can get overwhelming. I am afraid that one day I will push too hard and break him. He  _ is _ fragile. He is my porcelain doll.   
  
That was cliché. I am sorry.   
  
I damaged him once. Did you know that?   
  
All that chatter about wanting to devour him earlier. Well, I have to admit I can get a little carried away with my teeth. His whimpers only serve to drive me. It is like he  _ needs _ me to do this. Like he  _ wants _ to be consumed.   
  
It was only once he yelped that I stopped. Not the good kind of yelp. The kind that sounded choked, the kind that made him less soft.   
  
Rigid. Resistant.   
  
I stopped immediately, obviously. Of  _ course, _ I did. I want him to enjoy what is happening as much as  _ I _ do. Unfortunately, the damage was already done.   
  
I am ashamed to admit that when I see the dent on his collar, I get a short burst of pride. Like I have written my name on him and it will never come off. Like I am some kind of animal who has marked my territory. Reminding anyone that sees it that  _ I am _ here.   
  
Not that I would ever admit this to him. Or any other partner he has. That is personal. My secret with myself and any idiot who decides they want to read this enough to break the encryption.   
  
For the person who does that – Are you happy? Was this everything you hoped it could be? What compelled you? Was it the desperation to see that I am something more than a harsh, taunting, smart-mouthed, bitter asshole?   
  
Well, congratulations, I suppose. I hope it was worth it.   
  
\--   
  
I am not the only biter. From what I hear from others, it seems to be a trend among our model range.   
  
That includes him.   
  
Most of his bites are not really biting, it is like he communicates careful warnings with pin-point precision with the tips of his teeth. It is a message.  _ “If you hurt me, I can hurt you too.” _ _  
_ _  
_ I heed that warning.   
  
That is to say, until he gets near my jaw or ear. He admits those are the spots that he cannot resist. I do not mind. I am his to do with as he wishes. It is a stark contrast against the softness, and it feels  _ good _ .   
  
Sometimes I deliberately close in as though to kiss his cheek, just to watch his expression change as he sees his opportunity and lunges into me. His desperation to devour me in return is an absolute bliss and sometimes it can be hard not to lose it there and then.   
  
\--   
  
Of course, it is not just about the physical. It started with a hand, as I mentioned before, right at the beginning. But before that, there were the books. Him, and his books. A living room full of other worlds.   
  
He taught me to imagine. He taught me how to see colours inside my own head, instead of just on paper. He taught me to stare at a block of words and hallucinate wildly, visions I could ever have conjured without him.   
  
I often lay my head in his lap and he leans around to share his book. We read the pages together. A shared hallucination that no one else will ever see. Of ships and seas, or spaceships and stars, or sunset skies and a susurrus of spells.   
  
And sibilance. I never knew how much I liked the soothing of a smooth sibilance before those books.   
  
\--   
  
I do not give him a nickname. Many do that for their significant others, their close friends, too. I feel like there is nothing I could call him that could do him justice than his own name.   
  
In return, he shortens my name. Something I allowed in order to make myself more accessible to him. And in time, that name has become something I associate as such an affectionate, loving way to refer to me, that when others shorten my name it feels  _ wrong! _ _  
_ _  
_ I admit it can be hard to keep my temper when I think people are being overly familiar with me to the point of feeling uncomfortable. I know they do not hold the same association to the name that I do, but it can be hard to hold my tongue when I feel like they’re doing something that is somehow  _ dirty  _ when it comes from someone else.   
  
\--   
  
I love him. I do not want anything bad to ever happen to him. I want him to remain the soft, naïve, compassionate boy that he is, and I will gladly stand between anyone who tries to alter that.   
  
  
  
<***EOF ERROR: END OF FILE.***>


End file.
